


Everything that I've got (is just what I've got on)

by Cvsaire



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: ANDREW HAS A TEXAS ACCENT YA'LL, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Betsy has a farm because i say so, Canon-Typical Violence, Cowboy Andrew Minyard, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/F, F/M, Im so sorry but I like old country music, M/M, Neil is in TEXas, Neil's dad is still the butcher tho, No Mafia, farming, no editing srry this sux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cvsaire/pseuds/Cvsaire
Summary: Neil frantically tries to get as far away from his mother's bones buried in the sand off the coast as possible, so he goes to Texas. In Texas, he finds Andrew Minyard and awakens the part of him that apparently swings for short, blonde cowboys.In which they work on a farm for wayward kids and the word ya'll is said a ridiculous amount.





	Everything that I've got (is just what I've got on)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting my writing literally anywhere, please don't ridicule me too bad lol. I just wanted to write Cowboy!Andrew and then this idea spiraled out of control. If I sound like a dyslexic middle schooler with no concept of plot, it's because I am one, which means constructive crirtsim is always welcomed. :))

The static of the radio made Neils's teeth grind, the flicker of a talk show catching his attention only to be swept away by abrasive, humming static was annoying.

The sun was slowly sinking, painting the sky beautiful hues of pink, orange, and a dusky purple. Neil had his eyes on what lied past the window, there was far too much pasture and fallen barb wire fence for him to be comfortable. 

The landscape of Texas went from mountains to miles of flat pasture filled with black and brown cattle, to fields of cotton in a matter of hours.

The nine-hour drive from El Paso to a small town outside of Austin, the capital of Texas, was exhausting, leaving Neil finally feeling the paranoia set into his bones. 

The beat-up white truck he had picked up along the border smelt of rubber, dust, and cigarette smoke, the smell of smoke brought Neil back to rocky beaches and the velcro-like sound dried blood made as he arranged his mother’s body to be doused in gasoline. 

Neil could hear her final words, could smell the burning flesh, could feel the burns on his hands he got, could feel and taste the dry heat.

The only thing that brought him back from his panicked stupor was the blaring horn of a train barreling down the crossing in the middle of the county road, it was a good thing he had stopped. Hardeeville was a quiet town, the kind grandparents and college dropouts move to so they can farm, miles and miles of black land prairie filled with fields of cotton.

Neil had always liked the south, always enjoyed the way the cicadas sang at night, enjoyed the particular disposition of the people who weren’t ridiculously conservative, and the Texas accent was a plus.

The thing about the south was the music, depending on where you were you could pick up any station from hip-hop to classic country, but this deep in the south it was mostly gospel, Willie Nelson, or NPR.

Neil pulled the truck into the first apartment complex he could find that only seemed to be made up of only 12 rooms. 

It looked kind of shady but it the fact that it was the only complex in town, and the motels looked even seedier swayed Neil’s judgment.

The distinct feeling of jealousy crept into Neil and made his mouth taste sour, he missed his mom, he had days like this, days when normalcy felt like too far, unattainable object, like a can of Spaghettios on the top shelf.

Normal wasn’t a word in Neil Josten’s vocabulary, and neither was sick, tired, or afraid- his mother had beaten those words out of him. 

The flyer promising an open apartment ready for rent posted on the door of one of the apartment rooms, the complex looked more like a converted hotel than an apartment complex in retrospect, had Neil parking his truck in the lot and drifting to sleep in the lot with a gun clutched in his hand. 

In the morning as Neil opened his eyes after a fitful sleep, he could see dust dancing in the rays of light that shined through the windshield and illuminated his surroundings.

He reached for his tattered duffle bag and pulled out his binder, looking for one of his mum’s contacts closest to him on the map that you wouldn't even know was a map unless you squint hard enough. 

A man named Vincent Connor provided Neil had the money, would help make Neil Josten a real person. 


End file.
